Pull In and Push Back

I would like to just take a minute to congratulate myself, and accept your appreciation, on my lack of political opinions on the internet lately.

(Twitter doesn't count.)

Not to be dramatic, but the entire rest of the world is slowly killing me. So slowly though, like the world has straightened out a paperclip and is stabbing me with it repeatedly -- short, annoying, constant jabs that sometimes pile up until I lie in bed at night and wonder if all of these little hurts could add up one day, that all of the little pinpricks might let my soul leak out onto the sidewalk until people are stepping over the puddle of me and arguing over who will be responsible for cleaning it up.

Not to be dramatic.

I am 85% sure that the world is not a safe place for someone so easily affected, and yet I'm stuck here. I also think the internet is a big problem, because the whole world is in my lap and I can't brush it off when it feels like the sky is falling. But if I zoom in to my own tiny little bubble, it's so much easier to remember that it isn't.

So there is a constant push and pull of tightening my circle until it's so small that I am in control and widening my worldview in an attempt to have empathy for every side of every issue, so that I can understand what's happening.

And I'm not depressed, just disappointed in the planet's general vibe. Seriously. Get your shit together, entire rest of the world.

I watched Welcome to Leith on Netflix recently, a documentary about a white supremacist that sets up shop in a small, sleepy town, and how it changes everything. Their circle was tight, life was zoomed in enough to care about your neighbors, and then some loud, determined, fairly clever idiots moved in swiftly and changed their little world through careful maneuvering and politics.

It was a small stage battle, but powerful in its implications, and terrifying in its potential, and revealing in how important it is to push back, even/especially when it feels scary to do so.

You should watch it. And you should pull your real people in so close that you don't forget that they're the ones that matter. And you should speak up against injustice, even when it feels futile, because it can come for your people, too.

But do it on Twitter, Facebook is bad enough.


(*Note: I am a member of the Netflix Stream Team. I get free Netflix, which is proof that there is a higher power making sure we each have what we need. My opinions on politics, the world, Facebook, nazis, the internet, and/or idiots are my own.)

Finders Keepers

I need you all to stop what you are doing and go watch Finders Keepers on Netflix immediately.

I know, I know -- your boss might be mad and people in traffic may not understand but this is urgent.

It's a documentary about a guy who buys a storage unit's contents and finds a human leg in a smoker that was left inside.

It turns out that the original owner of the storage unit is an amputee and for some bizarre reason, he was allowed to keep his leg after removal. He wanted it back but the leg finder enjoyed the attention it brought him and had parlayed it into some fame, and wouldn't return it.

The journey that follows is absurd and funny and frustrating and sweet; one of those meant to be situations that brings people together who need each other to fulfill their destiny (even if they don't like it) and proof that the universe has a plan.

I even ended up feeling a strange sense of admiration and sympathy for the weirdo who wanted to keep some other weirdo's leg. Talk about living boldly and making opportunities appear.

I hope everyone involved, and the leg, lived happily ever after the end of the movie because the world needs more characters and people who are passionate...even if it's about weird shit like someone else's rotting leg.

I'm a member of the Netflix Stream Team and Google wants you to know that I get free Netflix. I want you to know too, because it's pretty cool and makes me feel special. It doesn't influence my opinions on various documentaries and/or weirdos though.

Raising Hope

So, I'm big into escapism.

Literal, figurative, virtual -- you name it, I'll go there if I'm avoiding things that suck.

Our recent move was a disaster of such magnitude that I was already laughing about it (but in that shrill, hyena-like, possibly-a-serial-killer type of way) while still knee deep in shit, actually and metaphorically.

My husband unexpectedly won a trip to Germany through work and had to leave just a few days after closing. He didn't want to go; I insisted that he must. He said he was worried about getting things done and leaving us alone and I was all, "Please, go, for real," because this was an amazing opportunity and because I like to sleep in the bed by myself, which is also an amazing opportunity.

I'm so strong and so smart and so capable, guys. I don't need help. Ever. I've got it and I want to sleep in the big bed by myself and do all the things alone because I'm fine.

And I was happy for him and a little not happy for him all at the same time because I wanted to go, even if it meant no big bed.

On the first night I texted a friend to tell her that if anything happened to me, it was our movers. I added a P.S. that I had not been watching Forensic Files and that I was being serious because our movers were straight-up thugs, and that I wasn't scared of being home alone or anything, just making it easy to solve my potential murder because I'm considerate. I woke up at every single new sound, making it no fun to sleep in the big bed alone.

I worked so hard, day and night, unpacking and situating by myself.

Mr. Ashley would call and I would ask him about the architecture and the countryside and the food, and he would talk about the bus he was always on. I told him things were great. Things were great with him too, except he didn't like the bus.

It was also spring break so I was full time social director as well as unpacker and utility fighter and low water pressure investigator and pool boy and finder-of-all-things, and people still expected a minimum of three meals a day. Also, my dog kept eating burrs and had to go to the vet.

And I was so tired every night at bed time, but also a little bit scared even if I didn't want to admit that so I started watching Raising Hope on Netflix because it looked happy and mindless.

After a few episodes, I was mad at all of you who have seen this show and didn't tell me how funny and charming it is. It's like if My Name is Earl and Malcolm in the Middle had a baby and that baby was cuter and smarter and wittier than both of its parents.

This sweet, silly sitcom seriously saved my sanity and I watched it every night, willingly putting up with the pauses caused by my infuriating internet situation. Sometimes a day would feel endless and I would look forward to finding out what happened next in that world, because mine was all out of funny.

I told the friend who originally recommended the show that I was annoyed with her for not being more forceful about the whole thing, and she reminded me that she's mentioned it twice. So I'm insisting right here and now that you watch it, and I'm doing it forcefully so you can't blame me when you don't.

It was canceled after four seasons and now I have a whole weird thing going where I don't want to watch because I don't want it to end forever. Like how I get about really good books, when I know I'll miss the characters when it's over.

THIS is a show Netflix should reboot. Let's make that our next project, once I recover from all of this.

Right before Mr. Ashley came home, I had a second burst of energy and some shame about my easy defeat, and again decided that I need to be the person who can do all of the things. Also, how hard could drilling be?

Drilling is harder than it looks. It took me an hour to put up curtains, crooked. It also ruined the drill bit, several screws, and hurt my arms.

It turns out I can do lots of things, I just don't want to.

I told Mr. Ashley that I wasn't having fun. He told me that he wasn't having fun either. We agreed that from now on, we'll just stay home and watch Netflix -- together.

(But if I win a trip out of the country, or state, or city, or house, I'm going. I could sleep in the big bed by myself and binge watch with a faster connection.)



I wrote this post as a member of the Netflix Stream Team, but they let me write whatever I want and probably regret doing so. The opinions expressed here are my own, although I know Netflix would agree that my movers seemed shady and drilling is hard. 

Buying Reality

I thought that buying a house would be more fun.

In my mind, it would be like having a new baby -- lots of excitement and hoping and planning and dreaming.

Instead I just feel fatter and less smart and I'm tired and kind of grouchy, so it is kind of like having a baby after all.

Mr. Ashley is obsessed with watching Fixer Upper, Property Brothers, and other real estate reality shows on Netflix and when I'm not making fun of him for that, I'm making fun of the buyers who CANNOT POSSIBLY SURVIVE without a huge dining room because they entertain all of the time or the people who might faint dead away at the site of laminate countertops.

I thought that I had more reasonable expectations. My only parameters were that it had to have two bedrooms, room for my dining room table (I don't even need a dining room, but I'm emotionally attached to my farmhouse table, okay?) and no farther from the beach than I am now.

That last part was hard because I'm only two miles from the beach. This left me with a very small and often questionable strip of neighborhoods to search. I knew I'd end up in a tiny old house that needed a lot of work but I live in one now and I'm a survivor like that so I was looking forward to my fate. I started watching Fixer Upper with a new begrudging appreciation.

(How does she just put weird shit on walls and it looks okay? If I did it I'm pretty sure it would seem like I put some tractor parts on a wall or whatever, and not look okay.)

Not long into the search, Big Kid protested for a third bedroom. It was a reasonable request from a 12-year-old who has been sharing a room for far too long. So we added another bedroom to the wish list.

little kid wanted a neighborhood with kids. We have 10 kids on our little corner of the street --  a roaming scooter gang having the best of childhoods. Also a reasonable request, but we made no promises.

We drove up and down every street in my designated area searching for options and the whole car was quiet. As we passed a row of duplexes with some people sitting out front on plastic chairs with a case of beer at their feet on a Saturday morning, little kid said, "This reminds me of...what's the word?" He thought earnestly for a moment as we waited. "...the apocalypse?"

As they say, children, drunk people, and leggings always tell the truth. So I gave up on my area and widened the search.

The house we have under contract is in a very family-friendly community with sidewalks and streetlights and a playground. It has three bedrooms. There's not really room for my dining room table but maybe Joanna Gaines from Fixer Upper will come rip out some walls (and, I mean, maybe she'll come willingly. I wouldn't kidnap her. I haven't been thinking about ways to do that because that's illegal and I'd get caught. And it's not right to do. And how would someone even do that? I mean, if someone was going to do that, how could they pull that off without getting caught? And then make her realize she wants to be friends? Hypothetically, of course.)

 Or we can eat on tray tables.

But I can assure you that buying a house is way more fun on television, and not having a dining room does kind of hurt.

Netflix Emergency Preparedness Plan

We were supposed to have a tropical storm this weekend, but Erika was weak and disorganized and fell apart -- a plan of action that mirrors many of my own. We honest to God had more rain during our vacation at the beach house, without the excitement of a named storm.

I was really well-prepared for a weather event so I honored that and worked from home, secure in my bedroom fortress, wearing pajamas and well stocked with snacks and supplies. There wasn't really a storm though, just a steady gray drizzle, but I consider this a successful dry run.

Since the family wasn't able to attend the weather event dress rehearsal, I went ahead and binge watched Don't Trust the B in Apt 23 once I wrapped up work. Now I will feel obligated to laugh at all of the jokes like it's the first time I've heard them since the show used to be something Mr. Ashley and I enjoyed together each night, one episode at a time. It was worth it, though. I never watched while it was on the air because the title is awful and I don't like girl friend shows, but I am glad I happened upon it because it is hilarious. I don't know the last time I've laughed out loud so often, I'm going to be sad to get to the end. Maybe I shouldn't have watched ahead.

I also watched Secret of the Kells over the rainy weekend, which was on Netflix a long time ago and then disappeared for a while. little kid and I loved it then and we love it now, it is so beautifully animated and unique.

Another new favorite is Freakshow, even though it seems a little contrived and occasionally offensive. It's a reality show featuring the family that runs the Venice Beach Freak Show and they seem nice enough but they have a two headed baby in a jar and that's sad.

So, there's a peek at my weather event preparedness plan. Please take not-quite-a-tropical-storms seriously and prepare your queue accordingly.


Please note: I'm a member of the Netflix Stream Team but that doesn't affect my opinions, just my productivity.